


The Cut

by Divine_Drivel



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: Fluff, Not Britpicked, Post-Lethal White
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:01:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23404933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Divine_Drivel/pseuds/Divine_Drivel
Summary: To put a bow on all of her recent life changes, Robin decides it's time to cut her hair.
Relationships: Robin Ellacott & Cormoran Strike, Robin Ellacott/Cormoran Strike
Comments: 5
Kudos: 32





	The Cut

“A woman who cuts her hair is about to change her life.”

Who had coined that phrase? Robin could not quite recall- she only knew that it felt true. She had officially filed for divorce from Matthew and had a month prior moved into a smart flat in Earls Court. She had sold every piece of furniture she’d owned in London and used the money to buy a new queen-sized bed, bedside tables, a chest of drawers, and a wooden writer’s desk that doubled as a vanity. She’d also revamped her wardrobe and made sure to purchase a few pairs of very high heels. And, most notably, she had cut her hair.

Robin's strawberry blonde hair was several inches down her back with long layers. She was sick of it. She’d longed for the stylish bob haircuts she had seen on beauty blogs and television for years, but every time she had presented the idea to Matthew he had protested. “No, don’t cut it. I like you with long hair.” She tried not to hold it against him. She had observed her whole life that most men- her brothers, her father, her school mates- they’d all seemed to prefer women with long hair, as though it were a badge of femininity and beauty. Bloody men. It didn’t matter what Matthew thought of her hair anymore, or any man for that matter. It did help bolster her courage that Ilsa, Vanessa, and her new flatmate Declan had cheered her on, but she’d already decided that she was going to cut her hair as a gift to herself, regardless of what anyone else had to say. She could say, with certainty, that the only thing she would miss about her long hair would be the ability to pull it up into a messy bun or ponytail, but sacrifices must be made.

That Saturday afternoon, appointment booked, she’d confidently strolled into a salon in SoHo and braced herself for the big chop. It was better than she could have imagined. Already having given her ponytail a silent funeral, she’d asked the stylist, a friend of Declan’s called Sergio, to give her something versatile. She wanted to be able to wear it straight and sleek, or soft and wavy. He’d given her an asymmetrical bob that started just above her collar and ended just above her clavicle. She’d walked out of the salon with it pin straight and sleek, impervious to the London drizzle thanks to sundry concoctions Sergio had applied to it. He told her to add some dry shampoo at the roots the next day and to add soft curls the next.

Declan fawned over it during dinner that night, as had Vanessa and Ilsa over brunch the next day. Monday morning came and, mercifully, she was able to recreate the loose waves she’d seen in various YouTube tutorials. She’d taken extra care in choosing an outfit for work, opting for a loose tunic, leggings, and booties. Checking her reflection in the window outside the music shop in Denmark Street, she took a fortifying deep breath, opened the door, and started up the stairs. Suddenly she felt ashamed at how nervous she was to witness Cormoran’s reaction to her new ‘do. She realized that all the feminist indifference she’d developed toward the opinions of the men in her life applied to all but one- his. Charlotte, Elin, and Lorelai all had long, silky tresses. Maybe that was something he was not only attracted to- perhaps it was something he sought after. She shook her head in self-recrimination. She didn’t cut her hair for Cormoran and she should not care so much whether or not he would like it.

Defiantly, she threw back her shoulders and bounded into the office. Strike was standing by the kettle, filling the second of two mugs with tea. “Morning," she managed with an air of aloofness, watching him out of the corner of her eye as she placed her bag onto her desk. Silence. She looked over at Cormoran, slightly alarmed. “Morning,” he said, eyes wide, “You’ve cut your hair.” Robin felt her face go pink and she quickly plopped into her desk chair, eyes toward her computer monitor. “Yes, I have,” she said cooly. She was not going to ask him what he thought of it or go into a diatribe of how liberating it felt to finally be able to wear her own bloody hair the way she bloody wanted to. She was adult for chrissake and she was not going to cheapen her feelings by laying out what would essentially be an apology for making a personal decision about her style. No, if Strike didn’t like it, he could sod off like the rest of them.

“Looks great,” he said, smiling in earnest. Robin’s gaze remained fixed on her computer screen but she felt as though a weight had been lifted from her chest. “Thanks,” she said, in what she hoped was a casual tone. Strike walked over to her desk. Eyes bright and grinning, he handed her a mug of tea. “Really. I love it. It’s the new you.” Robin felt an indescribable warmth fill her chest and she beamed. “Thank you,” she replied sincerely. Just then, Strike held up his mug in a toast, “To the new Robin!” Confidence renewed, she held back her shoulders and clinked her mug against his, “To the new Robin!"

**Author's Note:**

> “A woman who cuts her hair is about to change her life.” -Coco Chanel :)


End file.
